Once In a Blue Moon

by Simon R. Green

  Security guards in what they fondly assumed were plain clothes wandered back and forth, on the lookout for familiar undesired faces. Pickpockets had become increasingly rare ever since the courts started lopping off the relevant fingers of repeat offenders. And gambling was strictly forbidden at the Tourney, because it encouraged interference by outside interests. If caught, both the bettor and the bet-taker would be immediately dragged away, thrust into a fighting circle, given swords, and told to fight it out for the amusement of the watching crowd. (Lots of rotten fruit here, and heavy jaggedy things every time.)

  People came from all over, to observe and participate in the Grand Tourney, the most famous celebration of skills and courage in the Known Kingdoms. Some of the crowds travelled really long distances to get there. Not just from all over the Forest Land, but from Redhart and Lancre, and even the Southern Kingdoms. The Grand Tourney was a strictly enforced neutral ground. Anyone who broke the compact, or even tried to, could expect to be sent back home in a box. Or a large number of boxes.

  Or a sack.

  Every year the Grand Tourney drew a bigger audience, because this was where the heroes were. The famed swordsmen and the infamous sorcerers, and everyone who’d made a name for themselves one way or another. Soldiers back from the border, warriors fresh from fighting the colourfully named pirates from off the Lancre coast, and every wandering young hero and adventurer who hoped to make a name and reputation for himself by taking on all comers at the Grand Tourney.

  This particular Grand Tourney had been postponed a month so it would coincide with the Royal marriage . . . and anticipation had only heightened the fervour of everyone concerned. The crowd was expected to be the biggest yet. Everybody who was anybody intended to be there, and people were crowding in from all around to make sure they didn’t miss anything at this once-in-a-lifetime affair.

  Along with a few very unexpected arrivals. Though no one knew that just yet.

  • • •

  The dragon dropped off Hawk and Fisher, Jack and Gillian, and the dog Chappie a safe distance away from the Castle and the Tourney. He located a small clearing and dropped out of the sky like a stone, accompanied by several gasps and at least one scream from his passengers. He stretched his massive membranous wings wide at the very last moment, cupping the trapped air beneath him, and settled down to the grassy floor in a perfect landing. Hawk and Fisher climbed down one side, Jack and Gillian on the other. And then Hawk had to go back up and drag Chappie off. The huge dog still had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and Hawk had to pry some of his claws loose from where he’d jammed them deep into gaps between the dragon’s scales. Hawk hauled Chappie down from the dragon, and into the clearing, whereupon the dog immediately pulled free, opened his eyes, and shook himself thoroughly.

  “Dogs are not meant to fly!” he said loudly. “Did you feel that landing? My stomach’s still up in the clouds somewhere!”

  “Calm down,” Hawk said kindly. “Let us not forget, you are so magical that even if you did fall off and hit the ground, odds are you’d bounce.”

  “You try it first,” growled the dog.

  “The Forest Castle is about a mile off,” said the dragon, indicating the direction with a nod from his massive bottle green head. “Which is about as close to the Castle as I care to get. I do not wish to have my presence detected by any of the Castle’s magic-users or by security people with really good eyesight. Partly because I don’t want the attention, partly so no one will make any connection between Hawk and Fisher and the very legendary Prince Rupert and Princess Julia; but mostly because . . . I don’t have good memories of my time at Forest Castle.”

  “Not many do,” Hawk said dryly.

  “But we take your point,” said Fisher. “There are a lot of good reasons why our turning up at the Castle with you could cause all kinds of problems. So you stay here, and keep yourself occupied, while we check out the Tourney.”

  “I thought we wanted to talk to the powers that be?” said Jack.

  “We do,” said Hawk. “And today of all days, the Tourney is where we’ll find them.”

  “Suits me,” said the dragon. “I could use some quality time alone in the Forest.”

  “Hunting?” said Fisher.

  “No, it’s time to get my butterfly collection started again!” the dragon said cheerfully. “I’m sure all sorts of marvellous new varieties will have appeared during my absence. I just can’t wait! Tally-ho!”

  He surged forward into the surrounding trees, seeming to somehow slip and slide between them, and just like that, his enormous bulk vanished into the shadows. For a while they could hear him crashing enthusiastically back and forth, and then even that was gone. Hawk looked at the others.

  “Did any of you happen to see a really big butterfly net in his hands?”

  “Definitely not,” said Fisher. “And I don’t even want to think where he’s been hiding it all this time.”

  “The stories were true!” said Jack. “You really did befriend the only dragon in creation who collects butterflies rather than gold!”

  “So, no treasure hoard,” said Gillian. She grinned briefly. “Saves having to fight him for it.”

  “The Castle is that way,” sad Hawk. “Pick up your feet, everyone; the sooner we get there, the sooner we can start getting into trouble.”

  “That’s my man,” said Fisher fondly. “Always thinking of me.”

  • • •

  They set off through the trees, following a rough-beaten trail half recovered by the Forest and already choked with masses of fallen leaves. The air was tolerably warm, and full of birdsong. Mulching leaves crunched loudly under their feet, and the Forest was full of the pleasant smells of earth and plants and flowers, and living things generally. Hawk breathed it all in deeply. This was how home had always smelled in his dreams. He’d never thought to see and hear and smell the Forest again, because he’d always thought he’d have more sense than to come back. Fisher strode along at his side, keeping a watchful eye on the shadows. The Forest held few pleasant memories for her. She only remembered the Forest in nightmares.

  “I have been to Forest Castle before,” Jack volunteered after a while. “When I was younger.”

  “Same here,” said Gillian, looking eagerly about her, and continually tucking strands of her straying grey hair back behind her ears.

  “I sort of felt I ought to,” said Jack, leaning only lightly on his wooden staff as he strolled along. “Just to see where all the stories you told us as children took place. The Castle was a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. Dank and gloomy, and very draughty . . .”

  “Right,” said Gillian. “And while I wasn’t actually ostracised by the Court, I sure as hell wasn’t made to feel welcome.”

  Jack was nodding even before she’d finished talking. “About as welcome as a fart in a suit of armour. My blood links to the Royal family made everyone nervous, and my direct link to two living legends basically creeped the hell out of everyone. They were happy enough to worship the memories of Prince Rupert and Princess Julia, but none of them wanted you back. Or anyone related to you. So I just smiled at everyone, gave them my blessing, and got the hell out.”

  “Were you the Walking Man then?” said Hawk.

  “No, this was well before that,” said Jack, pausing to prod suspiciously with the end of his wooden staff at something rustling in the undergrowth. “Just as well, really. If I’d started smiting the bad guys in that place, I’d probably still be doing it. I really didn’t care for the feel of the place. Of course, it may have improved since. My beliefs require me to be optimistic.”

  “I wouldn’t put money on it,” said Hawk. “Chappie! Put that down! There are people starving to death who’d know better than to eat that!”

  “You are so unadventurous,” said the dog, chewing loudly.

  “What about this new House of Parliament?” said Fisher. “What’s that like?”

  Jack and Gillian exchanged a quick smile. “Onl
y you would see that as something new,” said Gillian. “It was established over sixty years ago!”

  “I didn’t go there,” said Jack. “It was made clear to me, in a polite but very firm way, that I would not be welcome, even as a tourist.”

  “Right,” said Gillian. “Politicians don’t like heroes, except from a distance. They get in the way of deals and compromises, and all the quiet understandings that no one talks about in public.”

  “This is sounding more and more like a place we should visit,” Fisher said solemnly. “If only to make it clear to one and all that no one tells members of this family where they can and can’t go. I might even table a motion!”

  “You don’t even know what that means,” said Hawk. “But we should drop in, say hello, smash the place up a bit. Just to put the fear of God into everyone and teach them some manners.”

  Jack shook his old grey head slowly. “My parents . . . are juvenile delinquents.”

  “Don’t expect us to make bail when they arrest you,” said Gillian.

  Hawk and Fisher shared a smile. “We don’t do the under-arrest thing,” said Hawk. “Really would like to see someone try, though.”

  “Down, boy,” said Fisher. “We’re here to stop a war, not start one. So how do you want to play it when we get to the Grand Tourney?”

  “We don’t want to advertise our presence,” Hawk said thoughtfully. “And we definitely don’t want to reveal who we really are. Everyone would get so tangled up in the implications of Rupert and Julia’s return that they wouldn’t pay proper attention to the message. No . . . we’re just Hawk and Fisher, one of the many who’ve run the Hero Academy. Impressive enough that people will listen to us, without distracting from the importance of the message.”

  “We need to talk to our grandchildren,” said Fisher.

  “What, exactly, do you plan to say to our children?” said Jack just a bit pointedly.

  “We need to sit down in family conference,” Fisher said firmly. “Sit down together, and talk this through. The Demon Prince only got us to come back here by threatening the grandchildren.”

  “He also said there was a war coming,” said Hawk. “He was quite definite about it. Which is odd, given that every bit of air coming out of the Forest is full of the arranged marriage and the new Peace agreement.”

  “Do we tell the King?” Jack said bluntly. “Doesn’t he have a right to know what’s going on?”

  “He probably already knows,” said Hawk. “Kings tend not to last long if they don’t take care to keep themselves well informed.”

  Gillian was shaking her head again. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard . . . Of course, Jack’s been living in a monastery for twenty years, and you two were out of the country, but even still . . .”

  “What?” said Fisher. “What have we missed?”

  “King Rufus is old,” Gillian said flatly. “He’s not what he was. His mind wanders . . . Word is, Prince Richard does all the real work these days.”

  “Then he’s the man we need to talk to,” said Hawk.

  “I still say we need to talk to our grandchildren first,” said Fisher. “Work out how best to keep them safe from the Demon Prince. Then we can talk to the people in charge and tell them what they need to do.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll just love that,” murmured Jack. “Chappie, don’t eat that! You don’t know where it’s been.”

  “I know where it’s going,” said the dog indistinctly.

  “How are we to gain access to the people in charge?” said Gillian. “Without having to reveal who you two really are? They won’t talk to Hawk and Fisher, because you’re generally regarded as troublemakers. They won’t talk to Jack, because he isn’t the Walking Man anymore.”

  “And they won’t talk to you, because you’re just another soldier from the Sorting Houses,” said Jack. “No offence.”

  “Of course,” said Gillian. “I’m just another soldier, and you’re just another monk.”

  “Exactly!” said Jack.

  “Look, it’s really very simple,” said Hawk. “We go to the Grand Tourney first, take part and win everything, and then we’ll be invited into the Forest Castle as the day’s champions! After that, we just wait for the right opportunity.”

  “And if one doesn’t arise, we make one,” said Fisher. She grinned suddenly. “We’ll show the Tourney what fighting really is. They won’t know what’s hit them!”

  “Please try very hard not to kill anyone, Fisher,” said Hawk. “Not unless you absolutely have to. We really do need to make a good impression.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Fisher. “I don’t always kill them.”

  “Of course not,” said Hawk.

  “Still, you’d better be the one to make the good impression,” Fisher conceded. “I never did get the hang of that.”

  Jack looked at Gillian. “Other people don’t have parents like this.”

  “I guess we’re just lucky,” said Gillian.

  “You do know they’re going to embarrass us at the Tourney, right in front of everyone?” said Jack.

  “Of course!” said Gillian. “That’s what parents always do in front of their children. Chappie! Don’t roll in that! It’s disgusting!”

  “Humans don’t know how to have fun,” said the dog.

  • • •

  Prince Richard and Princess Catherine arrived at the Grand Tourney in their most splendid ceremonial outfits, at the head of a long procession. Neither of them actually felt much like it, having a great many other things on their minds, but they didn’t really have any choice in the matter. Given that the whole affair was ostensibly being held in their honour this year. Everything was pretty much set up by the time they got there, though there was still some loud hammering and occasional bursts of bad language, going on in the background. Which the Royal couple politely pretended not to notice.

  Richard and Catherine strolled unhurriedly among the raised-seating stands and the many merchandising stalls, smiling and nodding to everyone. (Being Royal, they could practically do that in their sleep.) Everyone gave every indication of being very happy to see them, and eventually Richard and Catherine, still smiling till it hurt, were escorted up the steps of the main raked seating and shown to their seats. Not so much seats as thrones, of course. Richard and Catherine sat down, and the Prince nodded a brief but determined dismissal to all the people who’d been following them around. The Lords and Ladies, the courtiers and merchants and soldiers, all bowed or curtsied and then departed at great speed, fighting viciously for the good seats. Politeness and etiquette meant nothing where the best views were concerned.

  Richard looked out over the scene before him. He and Catherine had the very best seats, overlooking all the best locations: the main fighting circles, the magical display arenas, and of course the single jousting lane that ran right before them. The other main raked seating, including the King’s seat, or throne, was set up opposite. There were flags and pennants and gaudy flower arrangements everywhere, and a hell of a lot of people, no matter which direction Richard looked in. He couldn’t see many security people, but no doubt they were all where they needed to be, presumably in plain clothes. The few armed guards he could see seemed to have their hands full, keeping the crowds under control. The general hubbub seemed good-natured enough, but as Richard’s mother always liked to say, It’s always fun until someone puts their eye out. Queen Jane had always been very preoccupied with damage to the eye, as Richard remembered. Don’t run with scissors had been another of her cautions. You’ll have someone’s eye out! Maybe she’d seen some awful accident when she was young . . . She’d died while Richard was still young, so things like this were mostly what he had to remember her by. Richard realised his thoughts were drifting, and he made himself concentrate on what was going on around him.

  There were a great many armed men hidden in the stands along with Richard and Catherine. He’d insisted on that. After the near-poisoning the even
ing before, he wasn’t taking any chances. He glanced coldly at the portly figure standing beside him, dressed in a really tacky and only borderline fashionable outfit, eating one spiced-pork-and-beef meatball from a platter intended for Richard and Catherine and making a real meal of it. The man with no taste in clothes was the Royal food-taster.

  “How long can it possibly take to eat one meatball?” Richard demanded.

  “You want me to do a thorough job, don’t you, your highness? Course you do,” said the food-taster, one Jeremy Hopkins. “My taste buds are so thoroughly trained and disciplined, I can detect a hundred different poisons with one good chew. The subtler poisons take longer, as you’d expect, but don’t you worry, your highness, I am also trained to projectile vomit at the first hint of danger!”

  “Well, there’s something to look forward to,” said Richard. “How do you get into a job like yours? Doesn’t it . . . worry you?”

  “Bless you, no, your highness!” Jeremy said happily. “It’s a family position, is this, food-taster to the throne. Back through eight generations, and every one of us has made it to pensionable age! It does help that I’m a philosophical sort. I say, when your time’s up . . .”

  “Stop talking and relinquish the bloody meatballs,” growled Richard. “Or I’ll personally see to it that not every part of you survives to claim a pension.”

  The food-taster sighed loudly and handed over the platter of meatballs. Richard quickly helped himself, bit into the first one with cheerful defiance, and then passed the platter on to Catherine. She just shook her head briefly, hardly even glancing at what was on offer. Richard supposed he couldn’t really blame her. He handed the platter back to the food-taster, who smiled smugly when he was sure Richard wasn’t watching.

  “You’ve got to eat something,” Richard said reasonably to Catherine. “Unless you plan to live on fresh fruit you’ve plucked from the trees yourself and water you’ve personally drawn from the well. Come on, what are the chances of anyone trying to poison you a second time now we’ve got an official food-taster on the job?”